Carrion
Creator: ☀''this was taken from creepypasta wiki credit goes to the original author'' . I don't know why I'm writing this. I've been a huge Creepypasta fan for many years now and oddly, although I love reading stories and non-fiction and well, anything really, I despise writing of any kind. The most I've ever done were essays for school, and all of those with spell and grammar check on. It had never occurred to me to try and write an article of my own. Until now. Because as I sit here today, staring at the tree outside of my bedroom window, I realize I can't hide from it any longer. People have to know. They just have to. I don't know, maybe these are just insane ramblings, but even then for my own sake, I need to tell somebody. So I created an account at Creepypasta Wiki and I began writing this. It seemed like the most fitting place. My story began when I was twelve years old and moved to England with my family. My dad works for the Hilton hotel chain and with the recession and all, he very nearly lost his job. We were all very worried until he told us one evening that he had managed to hold onto his position, but it meant moving to London. As you can imagine, none of were the least bit happy with this. Just moving would have been one thing, but to a different continent in a different part of the world... For weeks afterwards, I bitched and moaned, telling my parents that they had ruined my life. Looking back in retrospect, I don't know how they put up with it. I was a little shit back then. But in the end, there was no way around it. Now you have to understand, this wasn't what most people picture when you mention London. We ended up living in a small suburb on the very edge of the city. I'll admit, it was no where near as bad as I had thought it would be. The weather's awful here sure, but the people in our neighborhood were friendly, I took a bus to school everyday and made plenty of friends, and my dad soon got promoted and began making even more than he had before. There was one thing though, that bugs me out to this very day. The area that we were living in was... weird. That's the best way I can describe it. It's not like anything out of the ordinary happened or the people were strange, they acted just like everyone else. It was just one of those thing's where you know something's not right, but you can't for the love of you figure out what it is. When I mentioned it to my dad, he told me I was just reacting to the change in surroundings, but it wasn't that. I didn't get the feeling anywhere else, but that suburb where we live and the surrounding are. I still get it to this day. Not far from our house is a large field, on the side of a main road. It was originally a farmers field and on the way to the bus stop in the morning, I would sometimes see the farmers large cultivator being driven about in it. That all changed about two years ago though, when the farmer moved away. There was no warning or anything, he just flat out left, didn't even try to sell the land or the house at the far end of the field and in the end the field was opened up to the public, though the house remained empty and was never put up for sale. I soon began walking our dog, a white terrier named Rosie in that field. It was a wide open space, with wooden fences separating it from the road and she loved it there, but I still couldn't shake off that weird feeling and not long after I started going there, I made a connection I hadn't before. The feeling got stronger, the closer you got to the field and in the field itself, it was at its very strongest. Nobody else ever seemed to notice it, but I couldn't ignore it, no matter how hard I tried. It was like the air itself itched at all times. But it was the only decent place to dog walk within a short distance, so I carried on going there. The last time I went there was almost a year ago, when I was sixteen. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I will never go there again, as long as I live. I found a different bus stop to get to school in the morning. I don't even want to see that place ever again. I know I've been rambling so I'll just go straight into it. When I went there with Rosie that afternoon I found myself wandering to the very end of it, further than I ever usually ventured. The farm itself was separated from the field by a high wire fence, with a wooden sign up on it reading 'KEEP OUT'. I had been up there several time before and stared in through the fence. There was a large barn, directly opposite and a short distance from that, was the house. It was a huge building, at least three stories and made entirely of grey stone. I had always found that house unnerving for what ever reason. The way it samed to lean toward you, its windows like large black eyes, staring down. As I stood there, staring at it that day, I heard a rustling behind me, and turned to see Rosie bound out of the tall grass, tail wagging. This part of the field was brand new to her and she quickly began sniffing the wire fence. I turned away for a moment and looked at my watch wondering how long before we should head back. When I turned back though, I saw Rosie on one side of the fence, her head stuck in a hole underneath it. Too late I realized what she was trying to do and before I could grab her, her whole body disappeared into the hole and a moment later, she stood there grinning at me from the other side of the fence. I began swearing. Rosie was eight when we got her, and by this time she was twelve. We had adopted her from a rescue centre and although she was generally a good dog, she had never been taught even the basic commands. We tried to teach her when we got her, but whether it was just plain stubbornness or she was actually senile in her old age, she refused to learn and we eventually gave up. I tried anyway and jamming my entire hand under the fence, I began calling: 'Rosie! Come here, Rosie'. As expected though she ignored me, turned and began running toward the house. I began swearing again. I knew if I wanted her back, I would have to go in and get her myself. There didn't appear to be any way around the fence, however, and I didn't really like the idea of climbing over it. So in the end I went back to hole and on a hunch, tried lifting the fence. To my surprise and delight, the metal wiring was quite weak, probably from old age and without using too much force I was able to fold it back to create an opening large enough to crawl through on my hands and knees. My plan had been to get Rosie, crawl back through the fence and go, but by the time I was actually on the inside, she was nowhere to be seen and I paused. The feeling of uneasiness I'd had every time before came flooding over me stronger than ever, and the house seemed to actually be staring back at me. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Now, I've always thought of myself as a smart guy. I've never believed in any of those stupid conspiracy theories circulating around the internet, or in aliens, or in ghosts or any of that supernatural stuff. But as I stood before the abandoned farmhouse, which already sounds cliched, I know, I felt not just a sense of uneasiness, but one of actual fear. For a moment, I actually considered turning around, crawling back through the fence and going home and telling my parents I'd lost Rosie. Maybe, in retrospect, I should have done that. I wish I had. But I didn't. After several minutes, I forced myself to start walking forward, past the barn and up to the house. Outside, there was a large shed where the farmer would have kept his cultivator, and to my surprise, it was still there, the metal beginning to rust and red paint beginning to fade. I thought this was odd, but forced myself not to dwell on it. Next to the shed was a large garden, with a large pond and a child's pink swing set. That just made the place even more creepy than it already was, but again, I tried not to dwell on it. I reached the front of the house and saw that there was no door attached to the frame. A dark corridor loomed before me. 'Jesus Christ, could this place be anymore terrifying?'' '''I should have turned around and left. Fuck that stupid dog, I should have left her there and gone. Instead, I went inside. The floor of the corridor was tiles, the floor and ceiling yellowed, flaking plaster. The air was cold and damp. I got chills just stepping inside. The corridor stretched the entire length of the house with doorways leading into other rooms. The light from outside stretched just several meter's, before sinking into almost complete darkness. I walked forward reluctantly, step by step, keeping my eyes directly in front of me, unconsciously trying to stop my footsteps echoing. It took me a while to figure out the most by disturbing part of it all, however. There were no cobwebs. This place had been silent for over a year, yet there wasn't a single cobweb, insect, nothing at all. The place was completely bare. It was as I was brooding on this, that in the edge of my vision, I saw a white shape appear in the doorway at the far end of the house. I almost jumped out of my skin, until I realized to my relief that it was just Rosie. She was grinning at me with her head down and ears flattened, the way she does when she wants me to chase her. I knew if I did, she'd just run off again, but if I didn't, there was no way she was going to follow me. I began towards her and unsurprisingly, she turned and run down the corridor and through a different doorway. Muttering to myself, I followed and came out of the hallway into a large open room, which I assumed had been a kitchen. Again, Rosie was nowhere to be found. There was a doorway, though, also without a door, that led into what I thought was a back garden. But when I stepped through, I found I was in a large wooded area. The ground was plain dirt, devoid of any any plant life, other than the large, twisted trees. At the bottom of a small slope was a stream of still, stagnant water and beyond that, a wall of tightly woven thorn bushes. It wasn't any of this that first hit me, however. It was the smell. It washed over me the moment I stepped outside and almost made me gag. It was the smell of vomit and shit and rotting meat. I finally snapped. 'ROSIE!' I shouted 'ROSIE, GET HERE NOW!' And to my right, I saw her move out from behind a tree, head drooped and tail between her legs. 'ROSIE!' I shouted again 'COME HERE!'. Instead, she whimpered and backed away. That's when I saw it. Standing on top a pile of leaves, was a large, black crow. It's head was cocked and it stared at me with one cold, black eye. It struck me as odd, as I'd seen Rosie chase birds countless times before, including ones such as crows. I laughed it off though, and and called to Rosie again. 'It's just a bird, Rosie' I called 'Come here'. Instead she whimpered again and backed away further. That smell was making me sick to my stomach now and that weird feeling was stronger than ever. The silence and stillness seemed to hammer against my skull, making me feel light headed and my hands shake. I started walking quickly toward the bird, meaning to scare it off, but instead it just stood there, looking at me. That was when I saw it wasn't leaves the crow was standing on. It was a dead fox. It lay on it's side, half decomposed, it's rotting flesh crawling with maggots. I almost threw up at the sight of it. And the crow carried on staring up at me. I took one quick step towards it. It didn't even flinch. 'FUCK OFF!' I screamed, finally losing my shit 'JUST FUCK OFF!' I nearly had a heart attack as the crow flapped it wings and flew up into one of the tree branches. That was when I saw the trees. They were dead. All of them completely bare. Those weren't leaves. They were crows. Dozens and dozens of them, maybe even hundreds filled the branches, staring down at me. I almost passed out. A terrible image flashed through my head of them suddenly descending on me, pecking out my eyes and tearing the flesh from my bones. 'Rosie' I called yet again, my voice a whisper this time, never once taking my eyes from the trees. 'Come here, girl'. But she wouldn't budge. I couldn't leave her, so after what felt like a fucking eternity I began edging forward, careful not to make any sudden movements, as if that might somehow cause them to react and when I was close enough, I grabbed her by the collar and picked her up, and she let me do so without struggling. My eyes fell from the crows for a moment, traveled down to the bank of the stream. Rosie was shaking in my arms, still whining. And ''that was when I saw why. Lying in the water, faced down, half covered in mud, was a body. A human body, flesh white and swollen with the water and crawling with flies and maggots. 'What the hell is that?' I whispered to myself, but I already knew. 'That smell' I thought with a sense of dread, 'That godawful smell'. Without thinking, I turned away. I had Rosie. I wanted to get the fuck out of here. I turned away and came face to with a dead child. It was a young girl, I couldn't tell how old. She was hanging limp, her feet off the ground and impaled through the back of the chest with a broken, jagged tree branch. I can't remember what my exact reaction was at first, at seeing this little girl, little more than a foot in front of me, her clothes dirty and torn, flesh soft and white, eyes staring blankly at me. I think the thing that surprised me most, was my own lack of reaction. After several minutes, I heard myself say, half laughing: 'That'll be what attracted the crows!'. Then I turned around, doubled over and retched. I found myself on my knees, holding my dog to my chest and sobbing. Rosie was moving now, desperately struggling to break free and crying with me. From the tree branches, hundreds of crows stared down at us. And a dead child hovered above us. Without letting go of Rosie, my hand went into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone and I began to press the numbers 999, the number for the emergency services here in England. I don't know how I found the will power to do it. I just knew I had to do it. I had to. I didn't know what had happened here. Who or what had done this to these people. How long they had been like this. I didn't want to know. All I know is, I wanted it to go away. That was when the body, down by the river bank started to rise. It moved slowly at first, head lifting as if it were just waking up. Then its arms came up clumsily, pushing down into the mud, lifting the thing to it's knees and then its feet. It stood, still as a statue, looking out at the woods beyond. Then it turned slowly to face me and for the first time in my life, I literally felt my sanity faulter. It's flesh was white and grey and hung in tatters. Beneath it, I could see bone and dark, rotting insides, some of them hanging free from the bottom of its stomach and dangling in front of it's knees. It stared up at me silently, water streaming down it's face, eyes milky white, mouth open and alive with maggots. The phone fell from my hand. Rosie was still twisting and squealing in my arms but I barely felt her. My head was spinning. I thought I was going to retch again but I was too terrified and all I managed was a weak cough. The creature's hand rose slowly, lightly touched it's own cheek, or what was left of it, then reached out, stretched it's arm towards me. Blood pounded in my ears at this point and threatened to burst my skull. 'Help me...' The voice was little more than a whisper, male or female, I don't know. It took one jerky step towards me and I turned and ran as crows exploded from the trees, shrieking. Through the doorway, I ran back down the corridor, sobbing, clutching my dog against me as the bird's screams echoed after me. Out the front door, I ran what felt like a fucking marathon, never once looking back, until I hit the fence. I practically threw Rosie to the ground and she shot through the gap and began racing away across the field. I pulled myself through on my stomach and scrabbled to my feet, looking back just long enough to see large, screaming, black cloud rise up from behind the house, getting closer and closer and closer. I don't even remember the run home. I just remember slamming my bedroom door behind me and locking it, as my parents called after me, shutting the curtains and then lying on the floor by my bed crying and crying crying. So that's my story. By the time I finally managed to unlock the door and venture down stairs, Rosie was home again. She had turned up at the house only an hour after I did and didn't seem the least bit affected by what had happened. I hate her for that. I know she's just a dog and that must sound insane, but after everything that happened because of her... I was almost relieved when she passed away last summer. I told my parents everything. Well, almost everything. Not about the crows, or...or... The police arrived later that day, the field was cordoned off and on the news that same night, it was reported that not two, but four bodies were found in the spot behind the house, believed to be the farmer and his family, as well as the carcasses of several smaller animals, all of them picked clean, as if by bird's. Of course I was questioned by police and I told them everything I had told my parents: that I had chased after Rosie, climbed over the fence into the farm and found the bodies. No leads were ever found to the investigation, however and the case was eventually dropped. I still have no idea what the fuck happened that day, whether I imagined it or not. All I know is that whatever it was, whatever killed those people, was not of this world. And the most interesting part of it all, I discovered last week. In Religious Studies at school, I read that in celtic mythology, animals such as cockroaches, flies, ravens or crows. Or specifically, large groups of those animals in one place can be indicators of demonic activity, maybe even The Devil himself. I told you before that I'd never believed in any of that supernatural, paranormal stuff, but I did find that particular piece of information very interesting. And that's all I have to say really, I mean, I can still function properly because of this. I had about a week of therapy afterwards, but even then, I never told anyone. I just couldn't. Until now. I do find myself wondering though, could it be that that particular area was, I don't know, haunted or possessed? Or did it just happen to be that spot by chance? Could it happen again? I wonder this as I sit here, staring at the tree outside my bedroom window. And at the crows that sit in it, staring back.